Pricked by Guilt

I have an incredible fear of needles. If you need me to emphasise just how bad my fear of needles is then can I point you to a previous posting here. In fact when we moved into our current house and we signed up with our new doctors, they asked me to come in for a check up. No problem I thought, a bit overweight (OK maybe a bit more than that), but nothing serious.

Of course, I didn't expect the Spanish Inquisition (No one expects the Spanish Inquisition) and I certainly didn't expect to have tiny skin punctures as part of the process. So when the nurse asked me to give her a blood sample, she could see from the lack of any in my face that this was going to be a tall order.

After 20 minutes of enough prodding and stabbing to be up on an ABH charge, the nurse finally gave in and the doctor had to come and do the business (he would definitely make a good darts player. His accuracy was unerring).

So then we had children. and they don't warn you that within a week they will be shooting your child's heel with a rapier like implement just to get a splot (it's a real word. I read it in The Lancet) of blood to test.

Then for the best part of five years they bring them in again to pump their little bodies full of disease, just to teach their immune system what a bad guy looks like (I can't see the justice Secretary introducing a similar scheme for little old ladies being introduced to muggers just so they know how to fend them off when they attack).

Despite my squeamishness, I haven't missed one of the visits to the injection section. That was until today. I am on a week long training course and couldn't miss today's as it was the most intense day of the week. And do you know, today was the first time that I felt physically sick thinking about my miniest me being speared by some locum or trainee nurse. All the other times I was there to apologise and comfort them. Today I was  20 miles away and I felt like I had deserted him. And that was worse than being there and seeing the needle go in.

I think a trip to Llangollen Steam railway at the weekend might just assuage my guilt. A visit to see Thomas the Tank Engine is bound to put me back in his good books. At least in my head.